Tiny Time
by Seizure-On-Demand
Summary: With the memory of the dead game-jumper still fresh in everyone's minds, a new Turbo must face the animosity of an entire arcade and at the same time care for and protect his young son, who was programmed to be mute. Will the father and son have to pay the price for the last Turbo's villainy, or are Litwak's inhabitants willing to look past who they are?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Wreck-It Ralph.

* * *

He didn't choose to be a Turbo.

He didn't choose for TurboTimeWarp to be plugged in here.

He didn't want to have to bury himself and his son alive in their game because all the other characters in the arcade had decided that they hated them from the minute their cabinet was rolled in. But what else could he do?

The Surge Protector from the Game Central Station had told him everything less than twenty minutes after TurboTimeWarp was plugged in at Litwak's. Its arrival had caused a widespread panic among the arcade's inhabitants. The Surge, whose sacred duty it was to keep the peace, halted Turbo seconds before the naive newcomer was about to step into the station for the first time and (after giving him the full story of all the chaos the last Turbo had caused) advised him to stay put in his game. "It would be in your best interest, sir. If everyone were to see you…well, let's just say that they're not quite ready to forgive yet."

Turbo, deeply horrified and sickened by the account of his predecessor the Surge gave him, was immensely grateful for the early warning. It had saved him and Tiny a lot of trouble.

Tiny Time was only five, and he was mute. He asked his father in sign language why they couldn't go out and explore other games like they used to when they lived at the Chuck E. Cheese. He'd been looking forward to seeing new places and meeting new people. He'd been hoping that this arcade had a farm game like Old McDonald that included a petting zoo, and a dessert game like CandyLand where they could get banana splits on Monday nights like they used to.

Turbo could only give Tiny a weak, apologetic smile and say "Because it's not safe" when the full truth was "Because the last Turbo who lived here was a monster and you and I look like him."

He deactivated the train that connected their game to the Game Central Station, shut off all the lights in the tunnel, and built an iron gate around the entrance to block intruders. He did everything he could to isolate TurboTimeWarp from everyone, because what if someone decided that harming him or his handicapped son could achieve justice for the maltreated Vanellope von Schweetz of Sugar Rush?

His precautions seemed to have worked, and they got no visitors. It was just him and Tiny in a desolate world of racetracks that stretched as far as the eye could see. They had a greyhound, Speedy, who was a well-appreciated consolation, but they were still very much alone. They'd enjoyed a lot of freedom at their old arcade but now they had to adapt to a different sort of lifestyle. Turbo decided that he could live contently in solitude as long as Tiny wasn't in danger.

They kept themselves busy after the arcade closed by working on their karts and practicing their driving. Though he was only five years old, Tiny was an extraordinarily gifted racer and mechanic. Turbo was proud of him and loved him with every pixel of his being, muteness and all. The programmers might have failed to provide the little racer with a voice but to Turbo, he was nothing less than perfect.

Several months passed without anyone leaving or entering TurboTimeWarp. Tiny eventually stopped complaining about being stuck in their game. Fortunately, the gamers liked them (if no one else did) so there was no fear of being unplugged and losing the quiet new life they'd made for themselves. But there was still the lingering fear of someone intruding into their game to hurt them, and whenever the gates were rattled by the wind Turbo nearly jumped out of his skin.

_"Relax, you numbskull. If anyone wanted to try to come in, they would have by now," _Turbo reminded himself. But he went ahead and built a crossbow out of scrap materials anyway, just in case. Luckily, he was as good a shot as he was a racer. Anyone who tried to get their hands on Tiny would find that out in an instant.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you to those who have read and enjoyed chapter one. Here's chapter two!

* * *

Mr. Litwak had some reservations about buying TurboTimeWarp.

From a businessman's perspective, it was a pretty great find. The manager of the Chuck E. Cheese (an old friend of his) let him have it at a discount price and the cabinet was still in excellent condition after eight years of being plugged in.

"You're not going to get a better deal than this anywhere else, Stan," his friend had reminded him over the phone. His Chuck E. Cheese was moving to a smaller location and he needed to get rid of some of the games quickly, which is why he called up Litwak. Litwak only had room for one more game in his arcade. His friend offered TurboTimeWarp as a token of their friendship, since Litwak was on the lookout for another racing game ever since Sugar Rush had a sudden surge of popularity. Litwak found a picture of the cabinet online and liked the look of it…except for Turbo, of course.

"Ol' Turbo's got a kid in this one," the Chuck E. Cheese manager joked. "He won't be poppin' in on any other games for joy rides like your last one did. Fatherhood's a full-time job. Believe me."

"Alright, I'll come see it, but I'm not making any promises," Litwak told him.

The next day he and his friend stood in front of the cabinet at the Chuck E. Cheese, and Litwak took a long time to make his decision.

"Are you _sure_ you've never had any issues with this one?" he asked.

"No issues whatsoever. None."

"No one has ever seen Turbo show up in any of the other games?"

"Nope."

"And there's no glitches? No bugs?"

"Not a single one. It's been nothing but smooth sailin' with this game. It's served us well for eight years straight."

Litwak was still unsure.

"If you don't like it, you can always chuck it, or sell it to someone else for a profit," his friend suggested. "I'm asking almost nothing for it."

Litwak surrendered at last. "Oh, alright, I'll take it. But if it corrupts another game, it's going out to pasture. Like my nana."

His friend roared with laughter.

* * *

Five months later, Turbo thought about that conversation between the two men while he was making dinner one night (spaghetti with meat and tomato sauce, a favourite of his and Tiny's). He hadn't understood then why Mr. Litwak was so hesitant to buy his game, but now he did. Knowing the reason didn't make him feel any better, though.

As Turbo prepared the sauce he wondered for the millionth time why Litwak had decided to take a chance on TurboTimeWarp when its predecessor had been such a disaster. Turbo hoped that it was because Litwak believed in second chances, but that was mostly wishful thinking. The most likely answer was that TurboTimeWarp had been sold off for far less than it was worth and Litwak was a man of business at heart who'd seized the opportunity to obtain a new game cheaply even if it meant bringing an unwelcome face into his arcade. If only TurboTimeWarp had been the first Turbo game to come to this arcade. Everything might have been different then.

Turbo stirred the pot and inwardly sighed, thinking of all the people he and Tiny had known well at the Chuck E. Cheese, all the friends and acquaintances they had to leave behind. He missed them. He hoped that they all made it to their new home in one piece and that they hadn't forgotten him and Tiny, who were sentenced to live as recluses in _this _arcade because the last Turbo wasn't alive to receive the punishment for his actions.

Tiny pranced into the kitchen, lured in by the smell of food. Turbo held out the stirring spoon for him to taste. "It needs more garlic," Tiny signed after a few moments of consideration. Turbo tried the sauce himself and realized that Tiny was right. One of these days he should just let his son do the cooking instead.

"Dinner's gonna be soon, champ," Turbo announced as he dropped the extra garlic into the pot. "Set the table and then go get washed up, please. Oh, and check Speedy's water bowl too."

They sat down to eat ten minutes later. After a long day of racing, Tiny's appetite was ravenous, and he attacked his food with gusto, getting sauce everywhere. "Slow down," Turbo had to keep reminding him, or else they'd both have to deal with a nasty stomach ache later when the indigestion kicked in. It was part of the parental job description, after all.

* * *

At the exact same time, several games over in BurgerTime, Wreck-It Ralph was scolding Vanellope von Schweetz for stuffing French fries into her mouth too quickly. "You're gonna choke, kid," her warned her. Begrudgingly, she obeyed him, but not without her usual sass and not without spraying chunks of potato everywhere while talking with a full mouth.

Ralph and Turbo tucked their children into bed at the same time as well, a strange coincidence that neither of them would've ever suspected. After administrating the bedtime stories and goodnight kisses, they left Tiny and Vanellope to their dreams.

As Turbo sank into a steamy hot bath and tried not to reminisce the past, Ralph paused at the entrance of TurboTimeWarp on his way back to Fix-It Felix Jr. He looked up, glared at the game's glowing red name, and peered into the tunnel, searching for signs of life where there were none. It wasn't long before the Surge materialized beside him.

"I'm going to have to ask you to step away from the game, sir."

"Is he ever going to come out or did he die in there or something?" Ralph asked, not budging from where he stood.

The Surge disinterestedly adjusted his glasses. "I can assure you that he's very much alive, and that you don't need to concern yourself with him."

"Of course I need to _concern myself_ with him. He's Turbo," Ralph snapped. Five months ago Vanellope had suffered a panic attack when she saw the TurboTimeWarp cabinet being wheeled into the arcade and continued to stress about its existence for some time. She was fine now, due to the fact that the new Turbo hadn't dared to show his face to the rest of the arcade yet, but Ralph still kept a close watch on the game.

"That son of a brick's gonna have to come out eventually," the wrecker thought as he walked away from the TurboTimeWarp entrance. "And when he does, I'll be ready for him."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter three!

Thank you, lovely reviewers! I'm so glad you've been enjoying this so far.

* * *

One peek.

One quick peek and he would go straight back home before his Daddy and Speedy noticed he was gone.

It was 7.30 in the morning, and the arcade was not open yet. Around this time the arcade was always very quiet and still. Everyone was still in their beds, catching as many minutes of sleep as possible before they were thrust into a full work day. Tiny's Daddy was still asleep and Speedy was still snoring in the doghouse. Turbo woke up to make breakfast around 8:30 every morning. Tiny had an hour.

After pulling one of his Daddy's comfy sweatshirts over his pajamas and putting on sneakers, Tiny fished the emergency flashlight out of the kitchen junk drawer and quietly slipped out of the house and through the iron gates. It was a ten-minute walk through the pitch-black tunnel and even with the flashlight it was not a pleasant journey. The tunnel was cold and smelled like old rubber shoes.

When Tiny finally saw the light at the end, he would've given a squeal of joy if he could. He ran towards it, wondering what awaited him there. He'd dreamed of it for months. He loved his home and his Daddy and Speedy, but TurboTimeWarp could only contain the five-year-old's adventurous spirit for so long. He craved new sights. He wanted to make some friends. Daddy kept saying no, but just this once couldn't hurt. He had to know what was out there. And once he did, he might be able to convince Daddy that it wasn't as dangerous as he thought it was.

Tiny was nearly blinded by the brightness of the Game Central Station when he stepped out for the first time since his game was plugged in. It was completely deserted. Tiny marvelled at how beautiful it was. Everything was so white and clean! The main station at their old arcade had been black and gritty and not nearly as big. It didn't have vending machines or water fountains either. This place was amazing!

Cautiously, Tiny took a few steps out. Then a few more. Then a few more. Then he broke into a run. He sprinted around the station, leaping about and doing cartwheels and somersaults and laughing without making a sound. Freedom! Freedom at last!

There was so much to look at. There were posters hanging everywhere, and graffiti all over the walls. It was like a museum, and Tiny loved museums. He stopped to read everything. Princess Peach was hosting a ball…_House of the Dead_ was having a garage sale this Saturday…Mrs. Pac-Man lost an earring and was offering a reward to whoever found it. A poster that said "Cy-Bugs are everybody's business" confused him, since he didn't know what a Cy-Bug was or why they were his business.

He moved on to the graffiti. A lot of it was very silly and made him giggle (silently, of course): "An Amy Rose by any other name", "We put the TNT in TMNT," "Luigi has a better moustache than Mario, pass it on…"

But then something caught Tiny's eye.

At first he wasn't sure what it was, but upon closer inspection he realized that it was his Daddy's face spray-painted on the wall.

But yet it wasn't. It was a mean face with big ugly teeth and hideous eyes that screamed hate and murder. Tiny shrank away slowly, asking himself why someone would paint his Daddy in such a horrible way. Daddy had a nice smile and nice eyes. This was all wrong!

It got worse when Tiny read the phrases that surrounded the face.

"Burn in hell, Turbo!"

"King Crappy!"

"Game-jumper!"

"Loser!"

"Creep!"

"Shoot his ass!"

Tiny started to cry.

He didn't understand.

Why did people hate his Daddy so much?

What did he do?

* * *

Turbo darted out of TurboTimeWarp's entrance, his features twisted with panic and terror. "Tiny!" he whispered harshly into the seemingly empty Game Central Station. _"Tiny!" _

Fatherly instinct had woken him up before the alarm clock did and told him that something was amiss. He went straight to Tiny's room and found the bed empty, and when he found the iron gate open he nearly had a heart attack.

His first thought was that his son was kidnapped, but Tiny wore a whistle around his neck at all times. Surely he would've blown it if there was an intruder? Wouldn't Speedy have barked up a storm? Tiny was incredibly sleuthy. He must've gone out on his own, undetected. There was no other explanation.

He was going to kill that kid. How many times had he told him that it wasn't safe to leave their game? Why hadn't he listened?

He had to turn the train back on to get to the station quickly. Once there, it didn't take long for him to find Tiny, who stood staring at something on the wall. Turbo ran over to him.

"You are in _big trouble_, young man! What did I say about—"

He froze. Tiny was crying. His cheeks and sweatshirt (well, Turbo's sweatshirt) were damp with tears. Turbo forgot his anger immediately. "Champ, what's wrong?

Tiny pointed at the wall. When Turbo saw what was causing his son so much distress, his heart sank. "Oh…"

The Surge was right. The people in this arcade didn't forgive.

Turbo put his arm around his son's shoulder. "Tiny," he whispered. "That's not me. I swear that's not me."

Tiny only turned his head away. Turbo sighed. "I should have told you this already, but I didn't want to scare you," he began. "There's no use keeping it back now. Many years ago, there was another game here called TurboTime, and there was another racer who looked like me and had the same name as me. He did very bad things. Very, _very_ bad things."

"What kind of bad things?" Tiny signed.

"He went into games where he didn't belong and ruined them," Turbo said, relieved to finally get this off his chest. "That's why you and I have to stay in our own game all the time. People think that I'm going to ruin other games too."

"But I would never do such a thing," he continued, staring directly into the demonic yellow eyes of the spray-painted Turbo, as if he were asserting this to the dead man as well. A chilly moment of silence passed before Tiny tugged on his sleeve.

"I want to go home now," he signed. Turbo pulled a tissue out of his pocket to wipe Tiny's teary face.

"Of course, champ. Let's go home." When they walked away from the graffiti, the painted Turbo's evil eyes seemed to stare after them.

They made it back to their area, only to discover that the entrance to their game was blocked. The largest and scariest-looking man they'd ever seen was standing right there, glaring into the tunnel. His enormous fists, clenched at his sides, looked ready to do some serious damage.

Turbo quickly grabbed Tiny and pulled him into a shadowy area where they couldn't be seen. Luckily he didn't have to tell Tiny not to make a sound. The only sound that either of them could hear was Turbo's heart racing at full speed.

_"Go away, go away, go away,"_ he silently pleaded to the giant, who wasn't moving. Tiny buried his face in his Dad's chest in terror and Turbo held him tightly, stroking his hair comfortingly to keep him calm, even though he could feel his own panic rising.

The five minutes that they spent frozen in place, waiting for the man to leave, were the worst of Turbo's life. He cursed the manager of the Chuck E. Cheese for sending him and his son to this hellhole, and he begged whatever deities were watching over them to spare Tiny if anything should happen. Then he changed his mind and begged for both of them to live. He needed to survive for his son's sake. Tiny needed him.

He cursed himself for forgetting to grab the crossbow, which was hanging in their living room back home. He probably wouldn't have fired it, but he could've used it to intimidate the giant and make him back away from the entrance so he and Tiny could board the train.

Luckily, a miracle occurred. The Surge Protector appeared.

"Sir, you _do_ realize that the arcade is going to open soon?" The Surge asked the man, who shot him an angry glare. "You should be in your game."

"He's out here," the man grunted. "The train's here."

"So it is."

"Where is he?!"

"Doubtlessly making his way back home, like you should be doing…unless you want your game to be put out of order again?"

"I'm not leaving until I see him."

"Suit yourself. I'm sure someone else in Fix-It Felix Jr. would be happy to fill in for you while you loiter around here all morning."

The giant scowled and pointed a gargantuan finger at the unimpressed Surge. "If I find out you're hiding him—"

"You'll find out no such thing, sir. Now, return to your game, _if you please._"

The giant stomped off, grumbling under his breath, and Turbo had never felt so relieved. When the Surge materialized in front of him and Tiny, he could've kissed him.

"The coast is clear," The Surge announced to the father-son pair.

"We can't thank you enough," Turbo whispered, clutching Tiny. "Who was that?"

"Wreck-It Ralph." The Surge rolled his eyes.

Tiny groaned. Vanellope von Schweetz's adopted father, or something along those lines. The one the Surge had told him about five months ago._"Fuck!"_

Tiny looked at his Dad with wide, surprised eyes. "Swearing is bad, Tiny. Ignore that."

The Surge generously bought Tiny a soda from a vending machine, and the desperately thirsty child gulped it down so fast that it gave him hiccups. "So if this Wreck-It Ralph is out to get me, what am I supposed to do?" Turbo asked the Surge.

"Keep doing what you're doing now," the Surge told him. "Stay out of sight. Stay in your game. But if you want to leave…"

"Yes?"

"Well…he's got a soft spot for children. If you let him meet your son, he might lighten up."

Turbo shook his head. "Out of the question."

The Surge shrugged. "Then I don't know what else to tell you."

"You've been a good friend to me and Tiny, Surge. I don't know what we would've done without you."

Another shrug. "I'm just a Surge Protector doing my job."

"You do it very well. Thank you again."

Once they were safely back in their game, Tiny apologized repeatedly to his father for disobeying him. "It's fine, champ. Just promise me you won't do it again."

"I promise," Tiny signed. Turbo ruffled his hair.

"We're going to pretend that none of that happened, okay? Don't think about it." Tiny signed that he wouldn't.

But when Turbo cracked two eggs for breakfast, the yellow orbs of yolk floating in the bowl reminded him of a certain pair of eyes, and he instantly lost his appetite.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter four!

* * *

After that traumatizing morning in the Game Central Station, Tiny abandoned all interest in exploring outside of TurboTimeWarp and visiting other games. To him the outside world was where the angry giant and the evil Daddy face on the wall were, and he didn't like the idea of it anymore. He tried hard not to think about them like Daddy told him too, but he just couldn't forget. He started having nightmares. When he woke up from one of them he ran straight to his Daddy's room where he found safety and comfort in his Daddy's warm arms.

Turbo, as he soothed his tormented son back to sleep, didn't dare confess that he'd started having nightmares too. It was Tiny who needed love and support to get through this difficult time, not him.

Luckily for them, Thanksgiving was fast approaching, and nothing lifted Tiny's spirits like a holiday where there was lots of good food to eat. It was going to be their first Thanksgiving without company over for dinner, but Turbo was determined not to let their seclusion spoil their fun. They were still going to have a lovely meal. Turbo would still cook their favourite Thanksgiving dishes. Tiny would still make a table centerpiece out of pinecones, chestnuts, and maple leaves. Turbo would still put up decorations and light scented candles that would make their house smell like autumn. It would be a family-only holiday this year, just the father-son duo and their dog. But it was enough.

Three days before Thanksgiving, Turbo took a turkey out of the freezer to be dry-brined. Tiny and a salivating Speedy watched as Turbo rubbed down the bird with a mixture of salt and herbs, cracking jokes all the while to make Tiny laugh. The turkey Turbo had chosen was a bit smaller than what they usually had, but that was because they had fewer mouths to feed that year.

Two days before Thanksgiving, at six in the morning, Turbo made a quick excursion out of their game. "I'll only be gone for twenty minutes," he told Tiny, giving the worried boy a reassuring kiss on the forehead. He strapped the crossbow to his back, grabbed the basket of goodies he'd put together for the Surge Protector as a token of gratitude for all his help, and hopped on the train. Thankfully the Game Central Station was empty (save for the Surge) and there were no vengeful giants on patrol.

When the Surge accepted the basket from him, the look on his face indicated that he hadn't received a present in a while. Perhaps he had never received one. Turbo would've invited him to have Thanksgiving dinner in his game if the Surge was able to leave the station.

"I didn't know what your favourite jam flavor is, so I just threw in a bunch of different kinds," Turbo awkwardly explained as the Surge sifted through the contents of the basket. "And there's a knife in there for the cheese. I hope you like everything."

A little while later, after Turbo had retreated back into TurboTimeWarp, Ralph came out of Fix-It Felix Jr. and saw the Surge scrubbing the graffiti of Turbo's face off the wall, with what was obviously a gift basket sitting by his feet. He watched as the Surge plucked a ripe pear out of it and took a bite, leaning forward so that the juice wouldn't drip onto his work clothes. Ralph glared suspiciously at the Surge and then at the TurboTimeWarp entrance before slipping right back into his game.

* * *

"He's up to something, Felix. I know it."

"Ralph, you're making yourself paranoid over nothing. It's been five months since he got here and he hasn't left his game _once._"

"He has!" Ralph cried, slamming his fist down onto the tree stump that was used as a table for him and the Q*bert crew to play cards and dice on. "I saw the train there a week ago! And the Surge is hiding something. I just saw him washing that Turbo graffiti off the wall."

"Well, it _is_ rather crude," Felix remarked. "Maybe a concerned citizen requested its removal?"

"I think Turbo bribed him to take it down. The Surge had a gift basket."

"It's almost Thanksgiving, Ralph. Anyone could've given him that gift basket."

"Who in their right mind would give the Surge a gift basket?"

_"Ralph." _

Ralph sighed. "Yeah, yeah, that was uncalled for, I know. Spare me the scolding, Mom."

"I know you're worried," Felix said sympathetically. "And I know you're looking out for Vanellope's best interests, but this is getting out of hand. You're getting up at an unreasonable hour every morning to spy on his game, when you should be in bed getting shut-eye. And when you're not spying on TurboTimeWarp, you're talking non-stop about TurboTimeWarp or thinking about TurboTimeWarp. The Nicelanders are concerned._ I'm_ concerned. Can't you just forget about it for now and focus your attention on turkey and pie like the rest of us?"

"I wish I could," Ralph admitted. He hated how this obsession was getting to him. He was supposed to be excited about the fact that he would be eating Thanksgiving dinner _inside_ the Niceland building this year instead of fishing the leftovers out of the garbage the day after. And the arcade would be closed for two days straight, meaning that he and Vanellope would get to spend a lot of time together. But instead of bursting with joy, he was wondering what Turbo was doing.

"Mary's making apple _and _pumpkin pies this year," Felix reminded him, in an attempt to lure Ralph away from the topic of Turbo with a more pleasant discussion about food. "Two of your favourites."

"Felix, _all_ the pies are my favourites."

"But surely you prefer one over the others," Felix teased.

Ralph grinned. "Well…"

* * *

"Apple," Tiny signed when Turbo asked him later that morning whether they should have apple or pumpkin pie this Thanksgiving for dessert. "With ice cream," he added quickly.

"Apple pie with ice cream it is," Turbo declared, rubbing his hands together. "You and I shall bake _the king_ of apple pies!"

Tiny giggled. "This is going to be the best Thanksgiving ever," he signed, and Turbo's heart felt light for the first time in weeks.

* * *

After the arcade closed that day, many people noticed that the Turbo graffiti was missing from the wall. Vanellope was one of them. After swallowing a nervous lump in her throat, she went straight to Fix-It Felix Jr. where she would find comfort and perhaps an explanation from her best friend.

He told her that the Surge washed it away, but he didn't know why. "Don't think about it, kid. We've got a Thanksgiving to celebrate."

"Did Turbo tell him to do it?" she asked.

"That's what _I _was thinking, but I don't know for sure."

Vanellope was silent for a few moments before she said something very unexpected. "I want to see him."

Ralph blinked in confusion. "The Surge?"

"No, you sack of dumb! _Turbo!_"

"Turbo?!" her horrified friend cried. "Why in the world would you want to see Turbo?! I thought we were trying to keep him away from you!"

"I'm sick of this, Ralph," Vanellope confessed. "He's been shut up like a clam in his stupid game since he got here. I'm sick of wondering what he's like and what the gumdrops he's doing in there. I want to _know._"

"It's not safe, kid!"

"I don't care!"

_"He could be an axe murderer for all we know!"_

"We'll never know for sure unless we go in there and find out, will we?"

Ralph groaned. He didn't want to admit that he was dying to know as well. But he'd promised Felix that he would stop thinking about it…

"I'm going in there tomorrow morning," Vanellope announced determinedly. "I'm gonna go in there, look him in the eye, and then leave with my fears conquered for good. I'm gonna put an end to this."

"Not without me you're not," Ralph told her, just a little too quickly.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five!

**Trigger warning:** Some disturbing, gorey imagery in this chapter.

* * *

The day before Thanksgiving, at four in the morning, Turbo had a nightmare.

He dreamt that a monster had his son pinned to the ground, and that he was immobile and powerless to stop it. The creature had the face of the graffiti Turbo and kept trying to shove a crown onto Tiny's head.

_"Wear it! Wear it!"_ the creature hissed. The crown had thorns that tore into Tiny's flesh. Blood streamed down his son's face, and the creature's saliva rained down on him, dripping from his snarling jaws.

Tiny's mouth opened wide as he screamed noiselessly in pain. Turbo, who couldn't move, screamed as well, only to find that he too was mute.

It was Tiny, the real Tiny, who shook him awake, and Turbo was told by him that he had been shouting in his sleep. The bed sheet was soaked in sweat, and he felt weak and chilled. "Daddy's fine, everything's alright," he lied to Tiny, who flung himself at him and gave him a hug. As Turbo held his son tightly, he blinked back the tears that stung in his eyes.

"It was only a dream," he told himself. "Everything's fine. It was only a dream."

Now Tiny knew that he was having nightmares too, much to his dismay. He was supposed to be the brave one, the fearless parent. He kept telling Tiny that nothing bad was going to happen to them and that they were safe as long as they stayed in their game, but he had so many fears and doubts. He didn't go back to sleep, but Tiny did. Turbo worriedly watched the dozing boy's chest rhythmically move up and down as if there was a chance that Tiny would suddenly stop breathing.

In the bathroom later that morning, a very tired Turbo splashed several handfuls of cold water on his face and shaved while Tiny sat perched on the edge of the bathtub, swinging his little legs back and forth as he watched his Daddy's grooming routine. He liked the scratching sound of the razor scraping Daddy's bristles away and the smell of the aftershave Daddy used. Once he'd asked his Daddy if _he _could shave, but Daddy just laughed and told him that shaving wasn't a chore that little boys had to do, and that he should be thankful for it.

"Lots to do today, champ," Turbo said, holding the razor under the running tap. He gave a huge yawn. "Laundry and mopping first, and then—" Another yawn. He was going to need a pot and a half of coffee to get through this day. "Decorations and baking. And we'll squeeze in Speedy's bath, and maybe a race or two. How's that sound?"

Tiny nodded eagerly. "Do you have everything you need for your centrepiece?" Another nod. "Alright, then. We'll get started right after breakfast."

Turbo accidentally cut his cheek once with the razor, and a single drop of blood splattered on the sink's clean white surface. Turbo quickly wiped it away, fighting off the nauseous feeling that was forming in the pit of his stomach.

* * *

"Ralph, stop making noise!"

"_You_ stop making noise!"

"They can hear your breathing all the way in Dragon's Lair!" Vanellope whispered. "And they can probably smell it too," she added. She couldn't see Ralph roll his eyes in the pitch-black tunnel.

"It's not like I can stop breathing, kid," he whispered back. "Stop shaking the flashlight!"

"I'm not shaking the flashlight!" But she was. Her hand was shaking involuntarily. She was scared and nervous, though she wouldn't admit it. Her other hand held onto one of Ralph's fingers. "We're almost there. I can see the end."

"So this is it," Ralph thought. After months of wondering and worrying, they were going to see Turbo at last. Ralph prepared himself to face another hideously obnoxious little prick like the first Turbo had always been. Even before he took down RoadBlasters, Turbo had been unbearable. Loud-mouthed and arrogant, he had no friends, and no one would even sit at the same table as him at Tapper's. Listening to him boast about his racing trophies was worse than having teeth pulled. And according to Vanellope, he wasn't much better as King Candy, at least to her. If this Turbo was anything like him, Ralph would have to do something drastic to prevent him from causing any more trouble.

When they finally reached the end of the tunnel, they found themselves blocked by tall iron gates. Vanellope pressed herself against them and peered out into the world of TurboTimeWarp. "Sweet heaven's nectar! Look at all those tracks!" she gasped. "There's gotta be dozens of 'em!" Her eyes grew wide with longing.

"That's not what we came for," Ralph reminded her. "How are we going to get in?"

Vanellope gave an exasperated sigh. "Oh, _I dunno_, Ralph! You've got two ginormous, gate-destroying meat slabs for hands! Put two and two together and maybe you'll come up with something!"

"Vanellope, I'm not wrecking the gates."

"You did just fine with a factory door!"

"That was a completely different situation!" Ralph exclaimed. "Our plan was to just slip in and slip out, _without _destroying everything in our path!"

Vanellope sighed. "Fine, then, Mr. Good Samaritan. If you're not gonna knock these gates down, toss me over the top! I'll go in by myself! I just _gotta_ see those tracks—I mean, Turbo! I gotta see Turbo!"

"No way, kid! You're not going in by yourself!"

"Then what are we gonna do?"

A dog's sharp bark, coming from a distance, made them both jump. A greyhound charged towards the gates at full speed on its long graceful legs, leaping smoothly over every obstacle. "Wow, look at this showman," Vanellope commented, thinking of her fat, clumsy devil dogs back in Sugar Rush.

The greyhound started barking at them at the top of its lungs as soon as it reached the gates. "Scram, you mangy mutt!" Ralph snapped at it. It growled. Ralph growled back.

"Ralph, Ralph, let_ me_ handle this," Vanellope said. She carefully stuck her arm through the gate bars so that the greyhound could sniff her hand and see that she was friendly, but instead it tried to bite her. Luckily, Vanellope retracted her arm just in time.

"This is definitely Turbo's dog," Ralph remarked irritably. He glared at the animal. "Who do you think you are, anyway?"

"Ralph!" Vanellope interrupted. "Someone's coming out of that house!"

"Quick, hide!" Before Vanellope could protest, Ralph snatched her up and they retreated back into the tunnel where they would be concealed by the darkness. Crouching against the tunnel's wall, they could only see just past the gates. They kept as still as possible, not daring to move or breathe.

There was the sound of a whistle being blown. The greyhound, still growling at the gates, changed its demeanour immediately. Its tail started wagging excitedly, whipping back and forth like an antenna. It began to pant.

A figure appeared at the gates.

To Ralph and Vanellope's disappointment, and relief, it wasn't Turbo. It was a little boy.

He _looked_ like Turbo, though. There was that same grey complexion, those same yellow eyes. But the boy had a rounder, more babyish face and a healthy rosiness in his cheeks, and his yellow eyes were soft like butter, not hard and mean like Turbo's. He had a mop of black curls that fell down to his neck. He was wearing a white sweatshirt that looked a size too large for him, with a big red T on it. He wore a whistle around his neck.

The boy, smiling a smile that could melt glaciers, affectionately threw his arms around the greyhound's neck. He rubbed the dog's fur and planted little kisses on its snout. He appeared to be giggling, but no noise came out of his mouth. Somehow this made him even more endearing.

Ralph felt a piercing, knifelike pain in his chest. It was pure, raw guilt. If _this_ was Turbo, programmed as a child for this game, then he'd been obsessing over nothing for the past five months. A kid like this one wouldn't hurt a fly. He was so small. What damage could he possibly do? He was even smaller than Vanellope.

_Vanellope…_

Ralph realized then that she wasn't crouched next to him against the tunnel wall anymore.

"Hello!" Vanellope cried, popping out of the shadows in front of the gates. She seemed to have found her courage. "What's your name?"

The boy jumped in surprise and the dog started growling again. "Vanellope, come back here," Ralph whispered frantically, but she wasn't listening.

"I'm Vanellope," she went on. "President Vanellope von Schweetz of Sugar Rush. Pleased to meet ya!"

The boy slid his hand through the gates to shake hers. The smile he gave her was shy and very sweet. He looked happy to see her, but he still didn't offer his name in return. Instead, he started scratching his dog behind its ear, which distracted it enough to make it stop growling.

"Not much of a talker, are ya?" Vanellope asked. The boy shook his head.

"He didn't laugh right either," Ralph thought. Did the kid have laryngitis or something?

"Are you Turbo?" In his hiding spot, Ralph held his breath. The boy shook his head again. Ralph exhaled. Okay, so the kid wasn't Turbo. Then who the heck was he?

A thought occurred to Ralph then, a preposterous thought.

No, it was ridiculous. There was no way that Turbo could have a…

On his side of the gate, the boy crouched down and started writing something in the dirt with his finger. When he was finished, Vanellope read it out loud.

"_My name is Tiny Time. Turbo is my Daddy." _


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter six!

* * *

"_You're_ Turbo's son?!" Vanellope exclaimed. She looked just as shocked as Ralph felt, gaping at the boy from his hiding spot. "Come closer. Let me look at you!"

Tiny Time stepped closer to the gates, and Vanellope peered intently at his face. Her eyes searched for traces of _him, _in this child who was so much younger than she was. Tiny curiously scrutinized Vanellope in return, though he wasn't searching for anything in particular.

Neither of them found anything threatening. Vanellope came to the conclusion that Tiny was safe. Tiny thought Vanellope was pretty.

He reached out to touch her hair, to determine if the candies stuck in it were real. This made Vanellope laugh. "Those aren't for eating," she told him. "Here, have one of these." She pulled a bag of peppermint creams out of her hoodie pocket and offered it to him. He eagerly reached into the bag and took one.

Ralph leaped out of the shadows. "Vanellope, don't give him food!" he cried. "He might be allergic or something!"

When Tiny saw Ralph, the peppermint cream dropped from his hand and his eyes grew as wide as saucers, blazing with horror and fear. He tried to bolt, but Vanellope seized his arm to restrain him.

"No, no, _stay!_" she begged. "Ralph won't bite ya! He's really nice! You'll like him!"

Tiny, surprisingly, didn't try to squirm his way out of Vanellope's grasp. Slowly, he raised his head to look up at Ralph's face with his big, innocent, squirrel-like eyes. Ralph tried to give the best unintimidating smile he could muster, but it just came out looking twisted and awkward. Tiny quickly averted his gaze, his bottom lip quivering like a leaf. He looked ready to cry.

Ralph heaved a weary sigh. This kid was so young. Of course he was scared of him. "Vanellope, let him go."

"Hold your horses, chumbo," Vanellope snapped. She turned to Tiny, whose arm she still held, though she kept her grip gentle. "Can you let us through the gates? Do you have a key?"

Tiny shook his head. "He's not going to let us in, kid. Let him go," Ralph repeated sternly.

Vanellope ignored him. "Can you go get your Dad?" she asked Tiny. "We want to talk to him."

Tiny shook his head again and mouthed "He's sleeping" and Ralph and Vanellope looked at each other. What should they do now? Should they wait? Should they leave and come back in an hour or so?

It was the greyhound who made the decision for them. The strange girl wasn't letting go of his young master's arm, and he didn't like that. Not one bit. He lunged at her with open jaws, and Vanellope screamed.

* * *

It was while he and Tiny were folding the laundry that Turbo felt so drained from exhaustion that he nearly passed out. The coffee he'd downed at breakfast hadn't done its job. He felt too dizzy to function. "Daddy's not feeling well, champ," he told Tiny. "I'm going to lie down on the couch for an hour."

Turbo hadn't felt so dead tired since the days when Tiny was a fussy little baby who had to be tended to every two hours. Sleep had been a rare luxury then, and life was a whirlwind of changing diapers and preparing formula. On several occasions Turbo had nearly dozed off while Tiny was in his arms or strapped to his back in a sling. A sharp bark from Speedy had jolted him awake whenever that happened.

He fell asleep almost immediately when he flopped down onto the couch. Before he did, he felt Tiny pull a blanket over him. When he woke up a little while later from a very deep and dreamless nap, Tiny wasn't in the house.

Turbo yawned and scratched his neck. He wasn't worried this time. Tiny was obviously still in the game somewhere. He was terrified of going into the Game Central Station. He was probably right outside, playing with Speedy. Turbo rubbed his eyes. "Better go call the munchkin in."

Tiny burst through the front door just then, followed closely by a young girl who was gripping her hand and was obviously in pain, with tears streaming down her face. When she saw Turbo, she gasped.

"Tiny!" Turbo cried out in shock. "What's going on?!"

Tiny gestured frantically to the girl's hand and quickly explained the situation in signs. The girl and the giant man had come to see them. Speedy bit the girl, the giant man got really mad and broke the gates. Speedy ran off down one of the racetracks and the girl really, _really_ needed bandages. The giant man was outside because he couldn't fit through their door.

It took Turbo a moment to register all of this. He groaned and covered his eyes with his hands. "Oh, for the love of—"

The girl whimpered, and Turbo realized that there was no time to dwell on the fact that their quiet and comfortable existence in TurboTimeWarp was falling to pieces. There was a child who needed his help. "Tiny, stay here with her. I'll get the first aid kit."

* * *

Vanellope flinched when Turbo touched her hand. "I have to look at it," he told her gently. They were sitting on the couch with the first aid kit, washcloths, and a bowl of warm soapy water spread out on the coffee table. Tiny was on standby, ready to help if he was needed.

Vanellope reluctantly allowed Turbo to take her injured hand in his own. He held it as if it were made of delicate porcelain. She forced herself to look right at him while he examined the bite wound. To her surprise, he didn't scare her as much as she thought he would. Yes, he looked just like the other Turbo, but there were differences. Good differences. This Turbo wasn't wearing his helmet, and the sides of his head were shaved. A little gold ring dangled from his right ear. The top buttons of his white shirt were open and Vanellope could see what looked like a tattoo of a clock on his chest. None of it frightened her. In fact, she thought it was cool.

Squinting closely at the marks his dog had left on her, Turbo said, "You're in luck, my dear. It doesn't look like Speedy bit too deep. He's had all his shots, so don't worry about getting rabies."

"That's not what I'm worried about," Vanellope thought, wincing when Turbo's thumb brushed against a tender spot on her hand. She wished Ralph was in the house with them. She would feel so much better.

Turbo dipped a washcloth in the water and began to carefully clean the wound. Tiny ran to the window to peek outside. Ralph was sitting cross-legged on their porch, scowling. Tiny knocked on the window to get his attention. He breathed on the glass and wrote "She's okay" backwards with his finger so that Ralph could read it.

He ran back to the couch, where Turbo was applying ointment to Vanellope's hand to prevent infection. "Champ, go get Vanellope a juice box, please," he ordered.

"You know who I am?" Vanellope asked.

"I've known who you are since Tiny and I got here," he replied. "I know all about what happened. You have no idea how sorry I am."

"Don't be sorry," Vanellope said quietly, her voice trembling a little. "It wasn't you."

"He's Turbo, I'm Turbo. You deserve an apology. You might as well hear it from me, since he's not around anymore."

Tiny came back from the kitchen with an apple juice box. Vanellope, whose throat felt painfully dry and tight, downed it thirstily. Turbo pressed a clean square of cloth against the wound and began to wrap bandages around her hand to seal it. "Why haven't you and Tiny left your game?" she asked.

"We left once. Only once," Turbo said. "It's not safe for us to leave. Everyone in the arcade hates me too much."

Vanellope's eyes filled with tears. "Oh, my dear, I didn't mean to upset you. Please don't cry." Tiny passed Vanellope a wad of tissues so that she could dry her eyes and blow her nose. "It hasn't been bad for us. We have everything we need in this game."

"But it's not fair," Vanellope choked.

"I know, but that's the way things are."

"I don't hate you."

"I'm surprised," Turbo admitted. "I thought you would hate me more than anyone." He finished bandaging her hand and held it up to make sure that the wrappings were neither too tight or too loose. "That should do it," he said finally, satisfied with his work.

He gave Vanellope a chewable children's aspirin and he and Tiny began to clear the coffee table. "Do you want something to eat?" Turbo asked her.

Vanellope shook her head. She would throw up if she ate anything. "What about your, um, father?" Turbo asked, glancing a bit nervously at the front door.

"My father?" Vanellope asked confusedly. Then it hit her. "Ohh, you mean Ralph! Ralph's not my Dad. He's, uh...it's hard to explain. Hold on a second."

Vanellope slid off the couch and went to the front door. Turbo glanced into the living room where his crossbow was hanging, wondering if it was going to be needed at all. He hoped that it wouldn't.

Ralph jumped to his feet when Vanellope stepped outside. "Kid!" he cried. He stared at her bandaged hand. "Did Tiny do that?"

"_Turbo_ did," Vanellope announced calmly. "And he wants to know if you want breakfast."


End file.
